


at the other end (of the line)

by mwestbelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Phone Sex, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky should have known better than to call the number Clint gave him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the other end (of the line)

Bucky finally gives in on a Friday night. He's had a few beers, and sitting at home alone on a Friday seems like a good enough reason to call a phone sex line.

He's not the kind of guy who _needs_ to pay someone to get his rocks off. He's always been good with guys, girls, anyone who catches his eye. But since he got back, things have been different. Clint gave him this 1-900 number, scrawled on a torn piece of loose leaf paper. _Try this,_ he said. Clint's special forces, so he gets it, even if he doesn't say it in so many words. Bucky's had that scrap of paper in his pocket for a week. But now he's lonely and horny, and it doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

He dials the number, then realizes he should probably strip down at least a little before he gets on the line and it's all awkward. It feels weird to just get naked, so he shoves his jeans off and pulls off his t-shirt before settling on the bed. Then, there's nothing left to do but hit that green call button. The phone rings for longer than he would have expected, and when it clicks, it's an actual guy, not some menu or operator.

"This is Steve."

"Steve?" Bucky snorts. "What kind of a name is that?"

"...mine?" The guy sounds pretty normal. Nothing breathy or gravelly, like guys in porn. It's actually kind of nice. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Do guys usually give you their real names? I mean, I guess it doesn't matter. I'm Bucky."

"Hi Bucky." This dude is super polite, which is sort of cracking Bucky up. "How can I help you?"

"Get me off?" Bucky sighs and turns the phone to speaker, setting it next to him on the pillow so he can stretch out beside it. "I don't know. It's been a long time. I'm not into any super kinky shit, I just...I've been having a hard time getting out there. I thought this might...help."

"Oh." There's a long pause, and Bucky feels stupid for saying all that, then angry about feeling stupid. Steve must have heard way worse. Actual weirdos call phone sex lines; as far as things go, a kind of angsty veteran has to pretty far down on the list. But then Steve's voice is a little bit lower; just a little, still normal, but it's enough to make Bucky shiver a little. "Sure, I can do that."

"Great." Bucky groans and arches his back, trying to get properly settled. "Tell me what you look like? Want to picture it."

"I, um. I'm blond?" Bucky can hear some shifting on the other end. He wonders if Steve is in some antiseptic call center somewhere, or if he's like a freelancer, taking calls in his pajamas in a trendy studio apartment. He likes the second one better. "Blue eyes. Pale, I guess."

"That's all you're giving me to work with?" Bucky laughs a little and rests his hand on the inside of his thigh, on top of his boxers. Just enjoying the proximity. "C'mon, my imagination isn't _that_ good. Are you tall? Buff?"

"I work out sometimes?"

"God." Bucky closes his eyes so he can picture it all. "You're totally one of those massive Adonises who make the rest of us look bad, and then you're all _oh I work out sometimes_ , aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Steve says. He sounds a little more comfortable though, like he's settling into the call. "But sure, if you've already decided."

"Yeah, that's good." Bucky runs his thumb idly over his dick, slowly thickening in his boxers. "Are you going to tell me what you're wearing? Do I have to do all the work here?"

"Sorry." Steve laughs softly. "Nothing too sexy. Sweatpants and an undershirt. It's...old, so it's pretty tight."

"Sounds pretty sexy to me." Bucky cups himself properly and groans. "I'm just in my boxers, in case you were wondering. Getting hard for you."

Steve makes a soft appreciative sound. "Me too. For you, I mean."

Bucky can't help but grin, even as he's squeezing his dick. "Yeah, I got it. Promise, I'm smarter than I sound."

"You don't sound dumb, I'm just--" there's more shuffling sounds and then Steve sounds a little breathless. "Sorry. I took my shirt off."

"Nice." Bucky picks his hips up so he can tug his boxers down and kick them off. He leans over to get some lube; he keeps it on top of the nightstand, he lives alone, no shame. It's a pump-top, so he can press it with his thumb and get a good handful. He flops back onto the bed and moans at the first slick stroke. "God, that's good. Keep talking?"

"Yeah. Um, you sound good. Do you want me to tell you what to do, or?"

Bucky usually bristles at orders; he's spent more than enough of his life following them, but he thinks hearing them from this weirdly polite phone sex operator might be nice. "Yeah, do it."

"Keep touching yourself," Steve says. There's almost a little growl under his words, a heat that makes it feel like he's really into it too. The guy's good. "But slow, do it nice and steady. I want you to really savor it."

"Shit." Bucky obeys, loosening his grip and going as slow as he can. Everything is slick, and he wants to get off right now, but this is why he called someone instead of just jerking off alone. "I'm savoring it, promise. Are you...fuck, you're probably not supposed to answer that, huh?"

"Touching myself?" Steve's voice cracks a little on the last syllable, and it's so insanely hot, Bucky doesn't even know what to do with that. "I am."

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh. "Bet you say that to all the boys."

"Maybe," Steve says, "but this time it's true. I couldn't resist. You sound so good."

"Fu-uck." Bucky moans, and he can't do this slow and steady anymore, he's going to explode. "Tell me something else, c'mon."

"Touch your nipples?" Steve gasps softly. "I...I am."

This is the best decision Bucky's ever made in his life. He reaches up and rubs his thumb over a flat nipple. They've never been especially sensitive, but picturing Steve touching his, perfect pink nipples set in a well-defined chest, that part's aces. He alternates between the two, finally pinching a little once they start to get hard under his attention. "Are your nipples hard, Steve? Say yes."

"Yeahhh." Steve giggles a little, breathy and almost dreamy. Like he can't believe this is happening either. "They're so hard for you, Buck, wish you were the one touching me."

"I want to lick your chest," Bucky blurts out, and he's not even embarrassed. Steve's heard worse, he's sure. "Bite your pecs and then run my tongue over your fucking abs."

"I want you to." Steve's voice is definitely getting lower now; unless he's the best actor out there, he's actually getting close. "God, more than I can tell you. I want all of that."

Bucky grunts, and he wants to just jerk the rest of the way off, but Steve told him to play with his nipples. "Let me touch myself? Can I come, Steve?"

"Fuck," Steve says with feeling. "Yeah, Bucky, do it. Let me hear you."

That's an order that he's more than happy to obey immediately. He jerks himself quick and dirty, like usual, but now he's got Steve breathing in his ear, the picture of him sprawled out in bed in nothing but low-slung sweatpants. It does it for him, easy. He plays it up, though, moaning and grunting way more than usual. He's rewarded by Steve making eager sounds in response, and it pretty much sounds like some actual sex is going down in his room by the time he finally comes.

He closes his eyes while he comes down, panting, and he listens to Steve. The sound of a hand flying over flesh is unmistakable, and he doesn't know what it says about him that it makes his chest nice and warm to hear it. Apparently he's good enough at phone sex that pros want to participate too? That's something to put on your sexual resume. He grins when Steve groans one last time and the sounds stop.

"Well, fuck." Bucky knows he must look stupid, grinning like an idiot alone in his bed, sweaty and stick, with his phone next to him on the pillow. But it feels great. "I guess that's a success."

"I'd say." He thinks he can hear a smile in Steve's voice too.

"Thanks for the orgasm, Steve." Bucky rolls onto his side, looking down at the phone. The minutes counter is ticking away, and it makes him frown a little. "Shit, was I supposed to give you my credit card?"

"Um," Steve says. It is kind of an awkward topic, though Bucky would think Steve would be used to it by now. "It's all taken care of. Don't worry about it."

"Whatever you say, man. Just as long as you're getting paid, because _fuck_ , were you ever worth every penny."

There's a pause again, and Steve is a little quieter when he speaks next. "Don't worry about me. It's...my pleasure."

"That's a good one." Bucky snorts. "G'night, Steve."

"Night, Bucky."

*

He has no intention of calling again, except then he does. And a third time. As stupid as it is, it actually does help. Steve is just easy to talk to. Not to mention, the regular and exciting orgasms don't hurt.

He goes on a date with a really nice girl. She's great, smart and funny, and she gives him this smoky look that's pretty much an engraved invite to her bedroom. He wants her. He does, but he finds himself kissing her on the cheek and handing her into a cab instead and ignoring the disappointed crease between her brows. He goes home, and he dials.

"Yeah, go on, do it hard." Steve gets all low and intense like this, and Bucky digs his heels into the mattress. "Gotta open yourself up for me."

"Jesus fuck." Bucky has two fingers buried deep in his ass, and he hasn't done this in forever. Never really liked it all that much before, it wasn't the same doing it to himself, but with Steve's voice in his ear...wow. "I'm doing it, gonna be ready."

"Are you touching yourself?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathes, even though he's not, he can't. He doesn't want to talk about that shit during phone sex. Total bonerkill, for him and for whoever has to hear about it. And Steve definitely seems to be into it tonight. He grinds against the pillow he shoved under his hips instead, moaning into the phone. "God, I don't want to wait any longer. Talk me through it."

Steve makes a low, eager sound. "I'd give you a few fingers to make sure you didn't rush. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"I've been at this all night," Bucky says with a strangled laugh. "You could probably stick a tree trunk up there right now. You much bigger than that, Steve?"

"Not exactly," Steve says. There's a little purr to his voice; he's gotta be pretty hung, right? Bucky thinks so. He closes his eyes so he can let the words wash over him without distraction. "Once I was sure you were ready, I'd still go slow. Even if you begged me to go faster, I'd hold your hips steady while I slid my dick into you."

"Shit." Bucky tries to press his fingers in deeper, but the angle is starting to make his wrist sore. He settles for settling deeper into the pose, cheek pressed against the bed with his ass in the air. He feels dangerously wanton like this and loves it. "I would beg. I'd fucking cry for your dick, Steve, you know I would."

"Oh my god. Don't tease me like that, let me hear it." 

Bucky had always been the one in control, before. He was the one who grinned while his partner moaned and writhed for him. But Steve makes him want to give it all up. It feels so good to let go, whine and make all the sounds he usually stifles. He wants Steve to hear him.

When he comes, he knows he sounds like a fucking porno, but Steve is urging him on, eating it up, and he's never felt so wanted. The only thing that could make it better would be to actually feel those big warm hands on his body.

*

Bucky's at a party, one of those big mixers where everyone's two or three degrees apart. It's not great, but it's not terrible. He has a beer and has been chatting with some girls who work with Clint when he hears a familiar voice.

Unmistakable, really, and his face gets hot like he's Pavlov's fucking dog. He knows he should play it cool, but he can't help it. He turns to look around. There are no big blond hunks, and when he finally pinpoints the source of the voice, his stomach drops a little.

The guy is _tiny_. Short and scrawny, looking like he'd be knocked over by a particularly strong glare. He is blond, at least. But that's about the end of the similarities between the guy in Bucky's mind and the one actually standing in the room with him.

He turns back to the girls and prays that he can get out of here without a painfully awkward interaction, but with his luck, he should know better by now.

There's a tap on his shoulder, and when he turns, Natasha is standing there with Steve. He forces a smile. Hopefully Steve will have the good sense to play it cool. He is, apparently, an amazing actor.

"Bucky, this is Steve. He's a friend of Tony's, he's an illustrator."

"An illustrator, huh?" He can tell that Steve recognizes his voice. He tries to ignore the familiar flick of eyes over his empty sleeve, the knowledge that he probably isn't what Steve imagined either. 

"Yeah." Steve crosses one arm across his front and rubs at his spindly arm. "Freelance, mostly. I work from home."

"Don't be modest," Natasha scolds. She wraps her arm around Steve's shoulders and smiles meaningfully at Bucky, and that's when Bucky figures out this is a set up. "Steve's doing great work."

"I do my best," Steve says, so modest that Bucky wants to punch him. He's fucking confused, his body a riot of mixed up hormones and disappointment and befuddlement, and now Natasha is wandering away with a pointedly arched eyebrow to Bucky, leaving the two of them alone.

They stand in awkward silence for too long. Steve seems like the type who could just be awkward and silent forever, so Bucky goes ahead and readies his conversational IED.

"You aren't a pro, are you?"

"No." There's a rush of miserable gratitude in just that one word, and Bucky chews on the inside of his lip. This isn't a conversation he wants to have at all, and definitely not in the middle of a party. He jerks his head towards the patio doors, then walks away.

Steve follows him out onto the patio; it's empty out here, too chilly for people to be setting up outside. Bucky sticks his hand into his pocket, looking over at Steve, who's looking down at the paving stones instead.

"Why'd you...how did you -- was this a joke to you?" He hates feeling vulnerable, and he poured so much out to this friendly voice on the phone, never thinking he'd have to face up to the guy who owned it.

"Bucky, _no_." Steve actually looks up at him, with those big blue eyes. "Not at all."

"Why'd you do it then?"

"I just...you were lonely." Steve swallows hard. "I was lonely too. It didn't seem like the worst idea."

Bucky sticks his tongue into his cheek, looking Steve over. "And...all the stuff about what you looked like?"

Steve flushes, then, and his expression gets harder. "You're the one who said that stuff, not me. I know I should've said something. But it was nice to actually be _wanted_ for a change. Even if it wasn't really me. You wouldn't understand."

And Bucky can only nod, because...he does understand. It's not the same thing Steve feels, of course; he understands because he's been on both sides of it, and he notices how people react to him now. How the only girl he managed to go out with before calling Steve had recoiled from his scars. People like to talk big, call him a hero, but when it gets down to brass tacks, they'd rather not look him in the eye.

He exhales, trying to let go of the sense of betrayal. It's not getting him anywhere with this guy, the only person he's really connected to since he got back. Steve doesn't look like the guy Bucky thought he was, but he's the same person.

"Look, I got a 1-900 number from a buddy, and when I called it, I got you. I don't know how that happened, but...I liked talking to you. And you seemed like you liked talking to me too, so maybe we don't have to stop. Doing that."

Steve has his arms folded tight around his slim chest, and Bucky can see the goosebumps from here. "You want to keep calling me?"

"I wanna buy you a drink." Bucky smiles, crooked but sincere. "And maybe take you back to my place, if we both think it'd be worth giving it a go in the flesh. I know I'm probably not what you were picturing either."

*

"You're not," Steve says. Somehow, they tripped and missed the drink, landing right here in Bucky's bed. Bucky drops his shirt on the floor, turning back to face Steve.

"I'm not what?"

"Not what I pictured." Steve holds his hands out until Bucky climbs into bed with him. He runs his hands over Bucky's sides, feeling his ribs. He's careful but not hesitant when he moves one hand the rest of the way up, running his fingers over the knot of scars that now makes up Bucky's shoulder, a few of them spiderwebbing in over his chest. "You're better."

"Flattery will get you...well, into bed with me." Bucky smirks and cups his hand around Steve's jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. "Looks like you made it."

"I'm a lucky guy," Steve mumbles against his lips.

(Later, while Steve is asleep, Bucky makes another call.

"Next time you want to set me up with somebody, fucking set me up. This twisted backwards bullshit has Stark's fingerprints all over it, and I don't need Stark in my sex life."

"There's not going to be a next time for a long time, if I heard right," Clint says.

"Fuck you," Bucky says. It sounds kind of like _thanks._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on tumblr: [Yay!](http://villainsexuale.tumblr.com)


End file.
